


Journalist

by trillian_jdc



Series: Mystrade Cocktails [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mycroft Holmes Needs a Hug, Mystrade Monday, Mystrade Monday Prompts, Protective Greg, Texting, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Mycroft's having a bad time with the press, and Greg takes him home to treat his headache.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Cocktails [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759666
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Journalist

Mycroft pressed his fingers to his temples. He loved the idea of a free press, truly he did, but on days like today, he would gladly consign some of the practitioners to eternal perdition. Particularly those who wanted all the protections of the field, but who claimed "oh, they were just entertaining the masses" when called on to be responsible. 

Truth was such a relative concept these days, and Mycroft feared for the future of his country, with so many believing whatever they were told. What had happened to curiosity? Intelligence as a virtue? When he did start indulging in rhetorical questions? 

Clearly, he was overdue for a rest. Or at least a change, as good as one, as they said. He could work with more focus longer than most, but even his brain needed some time and space for recovery. And if he didn't do it by choice, the impending migraine would force him to it. The high he got by discerning the perfect, complex solution to a multi-variate problem was enjoyable but insufficient to make up for too long denying himself. And really, given how many people ignored his answers these days, it was hardly worth his while to be clever. 

Just then, his mobile sounded. It was Greg, texting to check on him. It had been a few days since their impromptu picnic in his office, and that lovely man had wanted to give him a bit of time to recover. He really was the most considerate friend... yes, let's call him a friend for now. 

Mycroft had a few hopes for more, but sadly, his workload never really let up. And he couldn't keep relying on Greg's good will and patience. He was a little concerned that the man had been deluded by too many of their drinks together. After all, for anyone to want to spend time with him, it generally required some outside stimulus of some sort. Something they needed from him, or something requiring their presence, or revenge, or some kind of chemical alteration. 

His eye socket twinged with a warning jolt of pain. Wrong thing to think about. He looked again at the message on his phone. 

**Greg:** Get some rest?  
  
**Mycroft:** Not enough, I'm afraid.

Greg answered back quickly, and Mycroft could almost hear his chuckle. 

**Greg:** Is there ever enough?  
  
**Mycroft:** No rest for the wicked, Gregory.  
  
**Greg:** And for those who chase them and clean up their messes. What's got you out of sorts?  
  
**Mycroft:** The press is particularly exasperating today. But no pursuit for me this afternoon. I will be taking early leave.

Greg's response was swift. 

**Greg:** Everything ok?

Mycroft pressed the call button, and the answer was equally quick. 

"Hi, Mycroft, you alright?" 

"Just a bit of a headache coming on, I'm afraid. As one ages, the time to bounce back from global travel takes longer than one would wish." 

Greg chuckled. "You're probably dehydrated. Got some good advice from one of the constables the other day. If you feel rotten, drink some water, then eat a meal, then take a nap."

"Back to basics, I see. And rather physically focused."

"I know how you Holmes like to ignore anything but your brain, but it doesn't take a genius to know they are related, you know. You should take advantage of one of those plush cars and get a ride home."

Mycroft suddenly knew what would make him feel better. "Only if you come with me, Gregory. Assuming you are available?"

"Holmes, you want me to play hooky? Tsk, tsk, bad influence you are. Pick me up in 20?" 

"Assuredly. Til then." Mycroft hung up. He felt better already.

* * *

Mycroft was thankful that his home was always ready for guests. He took Greg's coat, then led him into the sitting room, gesturing towards the sofa. "What can I get you, Gregory?" 

Greg refused to sit down, responding, "Oh, no, you don't. You should be the one being waited on. Seat yourself." 

"You have done nothing in our meetings but worry about me. Please allow me to return the favor occasionally. Particularly when hosting in my home." 

"Nah, drinks are my responsibility. One small cocktail, and then off to bed with you. A nursery supper, I think, tea and toast. And a glass of water for you while I mix." 

Mycroft was impressed, as always, with how easily and comfortably Greg took control. He could get used to someone taking care of him, detrimental to his work as it might be. The mood he was in, hang the work! 

"You're quite the nurse, Gregory. Although I'm not sure cocktails are on the approved list of medical supplements. They have given me too many prescriptions for migraine, including yoga and shiatsu, but no one ever said 'have a drink'." 

Greg grinned at him. "Haven't you ever heard of medicinal brandy? All those furry dogs in the mountains, and the Victorians constantly pressing it on those who've fainted. You should listen to your doctors, certainly, but best treatment for a stress disorder is to relax." Greg made his way to the bar cart. "You said the press were annoying you, so let's drink a journalist. Go get your water." 

Greg began selecting bottles, as Mycroft went to gather some sparkling water from the kitchen. By the time he'd returned, there was a traditional cocktail glass waiting for him with a twist of lemon on the edge. 

"One day, we'll move on from gin and martinis, but I couldn't resist the pun. Good thing you're well-stocked. And there's extra lemon juice, for some vitamin C. You could likely use some vitamins." 

Mycroft grimaced. "You make a better detective than a nursemaid." He sipped. "Tart, but refreshing. I have plenty of alcohol because liquor doesn't go bad while one travels, unlike fresh vegetables." 

"Not a way to select groceries I'd thought about before," Greg pondered. "Now sit down and think pleasant thoughts while you enjoy your beverage. And take one drink of water for every sip of cocktail. I'm going to your kitchen, assuming you have one, and make your tea." 

Mycroft set the glass down and crossed his arms, frowning. "I don't need to be coddled, Greg." 

"Let me help, Mycroft. There's no shame in being taken care of." 

"Perhaps... but only if I may return the favor at some future date." 

Greg smiled. "Next time I have a mishap, I'll call for you to sign me out of A&E. Would be nice to have a contact here in town that's actually able to show up." 

"Oh, don't tempt fate! I don't like to think about the risks of your profession. I never have." Mycroft looked down into his glass. 

"It's rare enough, no need to worry. But sweet of you." Greg finished his drink. "Now where's your kitchen?"

* * *

Greg had managed some buttered toast and cheese with savory biscuits. He'd even found a tray from somewhere. "Ready for your supper in bed, Mycroft? Next time, I'll bring grapes," he teased, as he held the food in front of him, and gestured with his elbow for Mycroft to lead the way. 

"I have to say, when I considered the possibility of you taking me to bed, this was not the context," Mycroft responded with a touch of sass, as he led the way upstairs, his headache forgotten. 

"Ooooh, you tart!" Greg teased, as Mycroft felt the edge of the tray bump him from behind. 

"Kindly resist from getting butter on these trousers, Gregory," he said, hoping that would encourage the man to look more closely at them. He didn't think he was that attractive, but he knew which features to emphasize, particularly with his friend following him up the stairs. 

"Good things my hands are busy right now," Greg muttered. Ah, he'd taken the implication, then. 

Mycroft opened the door to his bedroom at the top of the stairs. "Here we are. Are you going to help me into my jim-jams, too?" he asked, waspishly.

"Not when you're feeling poorly. I'm going to leave this for you and take myself off." 

Mycroft turned in the doorway. "Is there a reason that you keep turning me down in favor of feeding me up?" 

Greg carefully set the tray down on a hall table before turning back to Mycroft. He then moved his empty hands to Mycroft's upper arms, holding the taller man in place. "There's no need to rush here. And there's no secret message. I like to take care of people, especially those I care about. And I suspect you secretly like it when I do. But you can always tell me if I'm wrong." 

Mycroft felt the tension suddenly leave him. "I have no idea how you do it. You put me on the wrong foot and make me feel good about it. If I could manage that technique, I could run the country." 

"Like you don't already," Greg snorted. "'m just glad we share an interest, however it happens. Now, you need your rest, if you remember why you skivved off. Have some food, take it slow, and we'll catch up tomorrow. I'll see myself out." 

"Thank you, Gregory." Before he could turn and walk away, Mycroft enfolded the thoughtful, caring man in his arms and buried his head in Greg's neck. Greg patted Mycroft's shoulder as his other arm went around his waist. The hug only lasted a minute, but both appreciated the warmth and comfort. As they let go, they smiled at each other, before Mycroft retreated into his bedroom. The sooner he slept, the sooner he could talk to Greg again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Today's Mystrade Monday prompt was "Let me help." One recipe for a Journalist can be [found here](https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/12530-journalist) (although I recommend doubling the quantities and using orange bitters). 
> 
> I feel as though I should say that cocktails are not recommended to treat migraine, although I've found a glass of red wine can do wonders at the right time.


End file.
